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Chapter 4

IRIS

I really, really, really fucking hated the cold.

Despite wearing the warmest clothes I could scavenge from the Raven’s Grove, the chill seeped into my bones. I trudged across the vast grounds of Arcton Palace, fresh snow clinging to any available surface. The frigidity sent a shiver skittering down my spine, like icy fingers dancing across my vertebrae.

It always felt foreign—unwelcome.

So few of the things I loved thrived in the snow. It left me feeling untethered, almost out of touch with nature.

Though we traveled to Kacidon as often as any of the outer realms before settling in Vaelithe, my hazy memories of those journeys provided little insight into what to expect.

I did, however, remember exactly how miserable I found the cold.

Especially in the realm of eternal winter.

From a distance, I squinted back at the ivory palace, ensuring I still had an eyeline to where I’d need to climb back into later. Having an exterior window in our chambers would have felt like a boon from the Goddesses themselves—if I still believed they cared one way or another.

This area of the palace grounds was barren compared to the grand entryway, which had been lined with arching stone passageways, a massive staircase, and enough guards to suggest an impending siege. Besides a distant curl of smoke to my right, all I saw was an endless stretch of white, broken only by the grouping of pine trees I was heading toward.

I really had meant to heed Zinnia’s warnings when she was summoned to speak with the royal advisor.

Alone.

I, of course, was meant to stay put.

Of course.

The ornate room we’d been assigned had made my stomach clench, the unfamiliar walls pressing a lump to the back of my throat. I decided I’d rather freeze my ass off in the snow than sit in the suffocating panic clawing at my chest. And since Zinnia was scheduled to meet with the emissary, I just needed to keep an eye on the rising sun and ensure I didn’t lose track of our window.

Nothing would make quite an entrance here like dropping unannounced into some random room in Arcton Palace, covered in snow. Although, perhaps I’d stumble upon the royals themselves, forcing me to spend even a second more than necessary in their presence.

I would rather claw my damn eyes out.

Unnoticed, Iris. Unassuming, Iris. Don’t draw attention, Iris.

The painting in our room lingered in my thoughts—the one depicting the Tenebris War. The brazen disrespect of displaying such an artifact after all this time…

Goddesses, I fucking hated House Gavalon.

Society, in its endless failings, always descended into hierarchy. But Goddess blessings were not meant to be one. The four magical classifications were simply that—classifications. Being gifted with one or more wasn’t a measure of superiority.

Anduin Gavalon, the King of Kacidon, had been one of the most vocal supporters of the Stratum—the absurd classification system placing power above all. Greed feeding greed. Arbitrary rankings imposed by those who deemed themselves elite.

Solitaries—those with a single blessing—were the ones they most reviled. The propaganda painted them as wrong, damaged, sinister. Arguing that receiving only one sliver of magic was a condemnation from the Goddesses themselves.

It was vile.

It was hatred.

It was bullshit.

An Ethera’s essence, the true measure of their power, had nothing to do with the number of blessings they received. That reservoir of magic determined how much you could pull from. Whether you wielded one ability, or several, with it had no bearing on your worth.

Furthermore, none of that was of any consequence to a person’s character.

Who we choose to be, what legacy we decide to leave, is a far greater measure of character than any gift from some unseen entity.

They lost the war.

And yet, there was still a painting in our chambers with the symbol of the Stratum displayed across it as boldly as ever.

I got their damn message.

I wrapped my cloak tighter, suppressing another shiver as I scanned my surroundings. Unsurprisingly, I had wandered to the forest’s edge. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a ring of lilac-colored flowers nestled at the base of a line of pine trees. Each bloom bore five pointed petals, dusky lilac darkening into deep amethyst at the center.

Perhaps not everything here was desolate after all.

My boots sank into the fresh snow as I approached. I’d never seen this variety in any of the botanical volumes I hoarded. Unhooking a weathered journal from my belt, my heart plummeted when I realized the stylograph that should have been clipped to its spine was missing. A gust of frigid air brushed my hair from my face as I patted at my belt, becoming momentarily frantic before my fingers finally found it tucked into my skirt pocket. Exhaling, I flipped the journal open, twisted the pen twice, and began sketching the petals onto the yellowed page.

A soft squeak made me pause. I looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a fur-covered ear disappearing behind a tree trunk deeper in the forest.

“Who are you?” I murmured, inching forward slowly.

The ear twitched. Nearly the same color as the snow, it might have gone unnoticed if not for the smudge of slate blue at its tip. Another cool breeze swept around my shoulders, almost urging me forward. I breathed it in, the faintest scent of herbs curling through the crisp air.

Before I could extend my hand, I was knocked flat onto my back by a small arctic fox pouncing onto my chest, licking a cold trail up the side of my frost-covered cheek.

“Well, hello there,” I gasped between giggles, scooping the ball of fur into my arms before setting him down in the snow before me. Two vulpine eyes blinked—one icy blue, the other a warm gold.

Hello, friend.

His voice, warm and bright, filled my mind. I was grateful my essence reserves had replenished enough to maintain the mental link.

“How is this frigid day treating you?” I asked, watching him pounce at the snow in front of me.

“They normally don’t answer, in case you were wondering.”

Panic lanced through me. Instinct took over before thought could catch up?—

Then my hand was empty.

The birthday gift Zinnia had given me three years prior flew through the air, straight at a man leaning against a gnarled tree, sporting a shock of snow-white hair and piercing ice eyes.

Shit.

Enchanted artefacts might have been made in abundance, but they certainly weren’t available for people like us. We owned maybe a handful of items that had been touched by a Spellbinder, and there was no doubt in my mind the stylograph had put a not-so insignificant dent in our savings.

The innovations they created were, at their core, the basis of innovation in Altaerra. Pens with an endless supply of ink instead of quills, platforms to move Ethera from one place to another with a press of a dial, the extravagant washbasins capable of siphoning warm water directly from the earth I remembered from Solyndra.

Items crafted with permanent magic to enhance our society. And while they often collaborated with other classifications of magic-wielders and inventors, namely Threaders, Spellbinder artefacts could change lives.

So of course, they were reserved for those with overflowing pockets.

The man tilted his head with a raised brow as the stylograph whizzed past his ear, a hair's-breadth away from nicking him.

Nadya, at least, would have been impressed with my aim.

“Well, aren’t you a beam of sunshine,” he chuckled, eyeing my defensive stance.

I glared up at him, mind racing.

Vigilance, Iris.

“Do you often make a habit of chatting with woodland creatures and attacking unassuming Ethera? Or is this a new endeavor for you?”

I stood slowly, brushing loose snow from my dress.

Don’t be a fool, Iris.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t lunged. If he meant harm, striking when my back was turned would have been the obvious choice.

Still, I’d learned my lesson about trusting strangers in the woods.

His lips quirked as he pressed a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “You’ll speak to him, but not to me? You wound me, Sunbeam.”

I took a step closer. Only one.

He grinned.

“First of all,” I folded my arms across my chest, “I have found, time and again, that animals have far kinder motivations than people. Second, don’t call me that.”

“Oh, but you’re such a ray of light and warmth, mindlessly throwing—what is this?” He bent down, plucking the pen from the snow and examining it. “Ah, yes.” He tucked my pen behind his ear. “Stylographs at innocent bystanders' heads. 'Sunbeam' fits you perfectly.”

I rolled my eyes and took another step closer, noting how he continued to let me control the distance between us. “ You yelled at me. Unannounced. In the woods. What exactly did you expect me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused slowly. “A ‘hello’ would have worked. A wave could have been a nice gesture.” The edge of his lip curled in a poorly concealed smile.

I took a deep breath.

He raised his palms toward me in what I assumed was a gesture of innocence before crossing his arms once more.

The knot in my chest, taut as a bowstring since he arrived, started to loosen at the openness written across his face. There’d been plenty of opportunity to attack by now. And something unexplainable told me he didn’t mean harm. In fact, it reassured me, somehow, that as long as he was here, there was little chance any harm would come at all.

I wasn’t sure what possessed me to trust this feeling—this instinct I so rarely had that things would be all right—but apparently I was feeling reckless.

Finally standing within arm’s reach, I took him in entirely. He was much taller, with broad shoulders and a lean but sturdy build. Probably from one of the old Kacidon families, judging by his light eyes—blue-grey, I now realized—and stark white hair. Characteristic coloring among those whose lineage traced back to only this realm.

“Hello, Sunbeam,” he remarked, biting his bottom lip to suppress a smile.

“If you won’t stop calling me that, you’re getting a degrading nickname of your own.”

“Is that so?” He smirked, watching me stare at him with absolutely no subtlety. “And what did you have in mind?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Busybody and eavesdropper both roll off the tongue.”

He finally let his grin take over, his laughter a rich, rumbling sound. “On the contrary, most would say I never interfere—to the point of being considered off-putting and rude.”

“Then they clearly don’t know you very well.”

I could have sworn his eyes darkened slightly, just a flicker, before the mischief returned. “No. They most certainly do not.”

“Well,” I shifted slightly closer, enough that puffs of white air filled the space between us, “who are you, then?”

“Just a simple man who stumbled upon a radiant woman in the woods and couldn’t leave without trying to catch her attention—even if that attention came in the form of a flying stylograph.”

Heat crept up my cheeks, so I turned my attention to the fox now weaving around my legs. He sat expectantly in the snow, head tilted. Seeking a distraction from the remark, I crouched down and ran my hands through his fur.

“I’ve never seen one talk back,” the man with moonlight hair mused, dropping to one knee beside me.

“Maybe not to you, but I’ve yet to meet an animal I couldn’t coax a few words from, granted I tried hard enough.”

“Scriptor, then? Communication with animals would make you a…” He paused, searching for the word.

“Aniscript.”

I felt his gaze settle on me. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Something in me tugged as he shifted, his pinking brushing mine, and I finally looked up—acutely aware of just how close his face was.

Through the pine trees behind him, I caught the sun’s position in the sky.

“Shit.”

Time was being quite the bitch lately.

Though this was entirely my fault.

“Along with your impeccable manners to new friends,” he laughed, “you’ve got quite a mouth on you. I must say, it’s rather becoming.”

“I have to go!” I scrambled to my feet and rushed out of the clearing, nearly tripping over the sodden hem of my dress. “I’m late, and I’ve already endured one too many lectures this week…”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

Taking care not to twist an ankle, I scanned for the tree with purple flowers.

“Who are you?”

I didn’t have time to answer. It didn’t much matter anyway. Still, I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips as I pictured the playful light in his gaze.

Forget about it , Iris.

Get to the palace . Get this over with so you can go home. You’ll never see this man again.

As I finally passed through the last set of trees and left the forest behind, I faintly heard him remark, “We should take our leave. I think that’s enough excitement for today.”